Zinc Oxide

by Duane Locke

E-mail to Damniso Lopez, 152

Zinc oxide seared, the face now white,
Lips exaggerated,
Scarlet.

After preparing his face
To assume the role of a creator,
He prepared the canvas
With gesso
For a painting.

For nibbling while he worked,
By his right side,
Raisins in a turquoise bowl.

He would assume the clown’s role,
Without an audience,
Without applause.

But before he could begin his art,
He was obsessed,
Compelled to go
To the cupboard
And get a yellow apple.

Instead of a paint brush, he used
An oak twig.
The paint tossed into the air
To aleatorily drop down on the canvas
In an amorphous manner.
With the oak twig,
He scraped and shaped the colors
Into a vague shapes
Suggesting fallen columns
Of a ruined temple.
To celebrate the destruction
That opened
To a new dispensation,
He placed atop the debris
Joyously dancing girls
Of a bizarre pink and a bizarre orange.
This was his structure of feeling
That he felt
Could never be communicated.

When the procedure had paused
From preceding. There was
No closure or completion,

He also paused,
To nibble on the yellow apple,
And gazed
Not at his painting,
But his clown’s face
In the mirror.